Death is the veil which those who live call life; they sleep, and it is lifted. -Percy Bysshe Shelley
The next few days are a blur. I don't see much of Drake because he's preoccupied with Mr. Crawford's funeral and ranch business. Twenty-one of the fifty-five horses in the barn perished. I know Stephen and the guys that ran me off the road had something to do with the fire. I just can't prove it, not yet anyway. But I plan too.
I dress in a simple black skirt and white blouse then join Maria outside. She's sitting in the car. We wait, silently, for Paul, who Drake left specific orders with, to drive us to the funeral home. Today is the second morning in a row I've not seen him. I worry because I know he's out there all alone. My heart aches. I wish he would have said something to me befo
